


Glitched

by bookworm773



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Deathfic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm773/pseuds/bookworm773
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a death- and multi-part fic about the Medic, and also will include a good amount of Heavy/Medic fluff.  Without spoiling too much of the plot, the story revolves around a glitch in the respawn system, which strikes the Medic down with a fatal illness. </p><p>Note: Updates will probably be fairly irregular, seeing as I have a lot on my plate right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glitched - Part 1

"Medic!"

He rushed forward, medigun in hand, to aid his wounded teammates in the front lines. The battle had been going on all day, with neither team getting far. Both defenses were not letting a single mercenary get past the bridge.

The Medic trained his healing beam on the Heavy, just as he felt a familiar buzzing in his hand. A grin crept onto his face. “I am fully charged!” He shouted, releasing the ubercharge. The pair glowed red as they became invincible to any form of harm. They progressed across the bridge, mowing down all BLUs in their way. The charge began to sputter out just as they set foot on the other side. It didn’t matter; they had finally won the bridge.

Just as the invincibility ended, the shot of a sniper rifle could be heard. The Medic collapsed on the ground, a bullet lodged firmly in his skull.

He would have sworn if it had been possible. Instead, he had to wait for the respawn system to act, ready for the excruciating pain that came with having his wounds heal and being brought back from the dead.

It didn’t come. Nothing happened. The Medic felt panic rise as he realized he was stuck in a dead-but-not-quite state. Then, a spasm of pain wracked his entire being. It was nothing like the normal pain. It left him exhausted and shaking, only to have another shock go through.

Eventually they ended, and he woke up on the floor of the respawn room, shivering. That had never happened before. The Medic sat there as a rough cough clawed its way out of his throat. Then shouts from the battlefield called him back into action.

He stood, hoisting up his medigun with him. A sudden dizzy spell hit him, causing him to lean against the wall for support. Blood was pounding in his ears, each pound bringing with it a flood of pain. The Medic closed his eyes, holding the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. He coughed again.

"You okay, mate?" The Sniper had just respawned, and was looking at the Medic, concerned.

"Ja. Ja, just fine." The Medic shook his head and straightened up, trying to ignore the pain. He forced himself to move, knowing that his team was more important than any headache. 

As he made his way down to the first floor, the Scout sprinted past, the enemy intel releasing a flurry of papers as he ran. A moment later, and the battle was won.

The rest of the RED team filtered in, bringing with them a cacophony of cheers and high-fives. The Heavy immediately sought out the Medic, drawing him into a tight bear hug.

"That win was all thanks to you!" He said proudly.

The Medic gasped for air as the hug squeezed the air from his lungs. The gasps quickly turned to hacking coughs, shaking through his body violently.

The Heavy broke out of his hug and held the Medic at arms length, studying him worriedly. “What is wrong?” He inquired.

The Medic shook his head, finally catching his breath. “Nothing. I just think I’m a bit sick.”

"You should rest, then. I will bring you dinner in bed. Do not want doctor getting sick."

The Medic protested, “I’ll be fine Heavy, reall-“

"No. Rest is best medicine. You will go to bed, or I will drag you to bed."

Knowing that his partner could be rather obstinate at times, the Medic decided to give in. “Fine,” he conceded.

The Heavy accompanied him to their room, making sure he would go to bed. He started to nestle down in the blankets, only to shoot up again. “Wait, I need to get-“

He was pushed firmly back down with a large hand. “Heavy will get it for you.”

The Medic sighed. “In my office, there’s a bottle of pain killers in the cabinet to the right of my desk. It’s on the top shelf, next to some rubbing alcohol. Could you bring me two pills, and a glass of water?”

"Of course." The Heavy went out the door, coming back a few minutes later with the requested items.

The Medic leaned forward to take the pills, rested back against the pillows. Not only were they supposed to effectively remove the pain, but they’d also help him sleep.

"I will come back later with dinner if you’re awake," the Heavy promised, kissing him on the forehead, "Sleep well." He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

After what seemed like hours, the Medic’s pain ebbed and he fell into a deep, drug-induced sleep.


	2. Glitched - Part 2

It was the pain that woke the Medic, like a thousand fire ants traipsing about in his skull. Each breath he took was strangled and forced, and it felt as if no air was actually entering his lungs. He was drowning without being submerged.

With panicked gasps, he shook the Heavy, who snored peacefully next to him. “What? What is it?” The response came from a voice leadened by slumber.

"I-" the words were little more than a whisper, barely getting out between the Medic’s lips, "I can’t.. Bring- bring me to my… My office…" he finally managed to gasp out.

The sleep immediately fled the Heavy’s eyes as he jumped out of bed, his thick brow furrowed with worry. “Doctor, are you all right?”

The Medic could do no more than shake his head breathlessly, panting out the words, “I need.. Medigun.”

Quickly understanding the urgency of the situation, the Heavy scooped up the Medic, carrying the none-too-light man with seeming ease. He hurried down the hallway, not caring who he woke up with his footsteps. With one foot, he pushed open the office door, propping it long enough to sweep in and set his armful on the operating table.

With a shaking hand, the Medic pointed to the medigun, which hung above him, suspended in a nest of wires and coils. “That switch..” The Heavy fumbled with the gun, his great hands finally finding the right button. It turned on with a reluctant click, before the gun began to emit its healing mist.

Only now was the Medic able to relax, as the medigun forced oxygen into his cells, bringing them to the peak of health and relieving his pain. He to a moment to simply enjoy the pleasure of breathing, a pleasure so often taken for granted.

"Are you better?" The Heavy asked, his voice tense with concern.

"Yes. For now, at least."

"What happened?"

"I’m not sure." The Medic paused, puzzling it over. "I think it’s safe to assume that this was caused by an irregularity in breathing. But what is the cause? Pneumonia? Tuberculosis? But those take time to set in, and this came on so quickly…" He trailed off, lost in thought.

"Can you fix it?"

"Well, of course. I could always take the easy way out. A shot of euthanasia would send me straight to respawn. But where’s the fun of that? This could be a once and a lifetime chance to study a disease like this first hand." The Medic’s eyes widened with excitement.

The Heavy pondered it over. “But how long will this studying last?”

"A few days, at least."

"A few days? But the team needs you.”

The Medic waved the worry away with a hand. “I’ll still be able to help the team.”

"Oh really?" The larger man crossed his arms, "How will you help if you can not even walk?"

An exasperated sigh flew from the Medic’s mouth. “I’ll figure something out.”

"No," the Heavy shook his head, "You will be useless in battle. The whole team will suffer for your little science experiment."

"I wouldn’t expect you to understand," the Medic was unable to keep a sneer out of his voice, "You’re no scientist."

It was the wrong thing to say, and the wrong way to say it. The Heavy turned away in a huff, folding his arms across his expansive chest. “Is not that I do not understand,” he spoke without turning his head, “Is that I do not wish to watch you slowly die of operations and sickness over some handy pandy little disease,” the annoyance left his voice, and his added quietly, “It would hurt me as much as you.”

The Medic’s mouth dropped slightly, as if he had been punched in the gut. When he regained his composure, his spite had vanished. “I-” he said softly, “I am sorry. I did not think-“

"I know," the Heavy turned, "For a man who uses his brain for work, you forget to think often."

"I will let respawn fix me."

"Thank you."

"Though, perhaps just one small operat-" the look on his partner’s face caused him to falter, rethinking the request, "Ah. Never mind." The Medic pointed to one of his many cabinets. "I keep a vial of euthanasia on the middle shelf, next to the- yes, that’s the one. If you could just hand me that and a syringe, I can do the rest."

Taking the items, the Medic nodded upward, as he filled the syringe with long-practiced ease. “You’ll want to turn off the medigun. Otherwise, it won’t let me die, and this will just burn like hell.”

The switch was flipped; the hum of the machine dying with a low whine. With a collected smile, the Medic aimed the syringe at a vein. “I’ll see you in fifteen seconds.” The skin broke easily, and the poison flooded his system.

Seconds later, he awoke in the respawn room. He sat up and pushed up his glasses.

And then he coughed.


End file.
